


Look Me In The Eye Sister

by stealingpotatoes



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Flashbacks, Gen, Low Chaos (Dishonored), Low Chaos Corvo Attano, POV Alternating, Post-Dishonored (Video Game), Unreliable Narrator, i guess canon compliant up until the wyrmwood deceit comics, i'm tagging characters as they show up, lesbian beatrici attano (because it's my fic and I do what I want), ok it's pretty much completely canon compliant up until somewhere between dh1 & 2
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:09:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26159305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stealingpotatoes/pseuds/stealingpotatoes
Summary: Beatrici Attano never thought she'd see her brother Corvo again. But a chance encounter with the infamous Masked Felon one night leads to a series of events shereallydidn't see coming...
Relationships: Beatrici Attano & Corvo Attano, Corvo Attano & Emily Kaldwin
Comments: 30
Kudos: 66





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> think this fic comes from 1: deciding there isn’t enough Beatrici Attano content anywhere and B: a bit of “if you want something, make it yourself”. Oh, and C: idk if you've read them, but the Wyrmwood Deceit comics lowkey did Corvo dirty. He literally just deserves to be happy, can he please just be happy with his family.  
> Also before we get into this, I know the Masked Felon is a lowkey sucky name, but I couldn't think of a better one than that, so I stuck with what Arkane gave us lol.  
> Anyways, without further ado etc, I hope you enjoy!!!

One of the whale-oil lights on the ceiling flickered with damage, sporadically shifting the shadows of the two figures in the otherwise near-empty hallway. 

She stood, legs slightly bent and ready to move, with her almost-empty hands raised in careful surrender. She never usually surrendered. She was never usually this afraid. But she never _usually_ faced Dunwall’s infamous Masked Felon, a man -- or better, a _ghost --_ with the face of death. 

The Masked Felon stood mere metres from her down the hall, his sharp sword hanging eagerly in his hand as he regarded her through his metal, permanently-grinning skull face, glinting in the flickering light above him. 

She tried to swallow her fear to talk, “I’m- I swear I’m not working with them.”

The Masked Felon didn’t acknowledge her statement at all. He didn’t move to attack her; he barely moved at all. He tilted his head to the side a little, like a bird of prey inspecting its hunt, still staring at her. 

She stayed as still as she could, not wanting to be seen as a threat. She didn’t want to fight him. There was no way she’d be able to grab and shoot her crossbow before he reacted. He’d taken out the entire building; one woman wouldn’t be much of a match for him. Her best bet was to try dash into the room behind and escape out the window. But what was the Masked Felon waiting for? It didn’t seem like he was exactly letting her leave, yet nor did it seem like he was about to strike. Was he waiting for her to make her move before he made his? She gripped the small wooden bird between her thumb and forefinger a little tighter, unsure what to do. 

The Masked Felon finally spoke, breaking the eerie silence, 

“Beatrici?”


	2. The Royal Protector

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> About twenty-four years earlier...

The King’s Head pub was never usually that busy a place on a weeknight, but it seemed particularly quiet tonight. There were only a few other people in the candle and lantern-lit pub, seated at tables and the bar, drinking, eating and talking. 

Beatrici was in the furthest corner of the pub’s main room, clearing a recently left table of dirty cups. She put another cup down on the tray before she quickly adjusted her dark brown hair, tied into a small, low bun behind her head. She dropped her hands back down to the table to pick up another cup- 

“Hey, Bea--” Finn called from behind the bar.

Beatrici looked up from the table to her coworker, “Yeah?” 

Finn made a ‘come over here’ gesture. 

Beatrici put the last cup on the tray and walked to the side of the wooden bar. She placed the tray down on the bar top, went through the gap to go behind the bar and moved towards Finn, who was standing near the end and talking to a man in front of him -- a usual; a man in his late fifties, maybe. 

Finn wasn’t exactly someone you would look at and immediately guess was a bartender at a pub like the King’s Head; Finn was twenty-six, just a couple of years older than Beatrici, with a mop of ginger hair and pale skin that made him look like a pretty typical Morleyan. But he was about Beatrici’s height, looked fairly skinny, was overly enthusiastic almost all the time and used  _ way _ too many gestures when talking, which made his mop of ginger hair wave around as he spoke. But Beatrici had seen him throw enough large and rowdy men out of the bar to know that he wasn’t someone to be messed with, despite appearances. 

Luckily, Finn was someone Beatrici would happily call a friend, so she didn’t particularly have to worry about… that. 

Beatrici caught the end of his and the man’s conversation; “--Bea’s from Serkonos, so she might know,” Finn said. He turned to face her.

“What is it?” Beatrici asked. 

“I was just talking to this fine gentleman over here,” Finn gestured to the gruff and slightly drunk-looking man at the bar, “and- you know how I never keep up with the news, I just get it all from people here. Like uh- like last week, when I found out about how that one member of the Gristol parliament was nearly killed by some Tyvian representative--” Finn started laughing.

Beatrici folded her arms and drew her mouth to a thin line. Finn was going to make this about ten times longer than it needed to be; something he had a habit of doing. 

“You remember?” Finn looked at Beatrici and paused, noticing her expression. His shoulders dropped a little, “Okay, do you know anything about the Blade Verbena?” he asked flatly. 

Beatrici unfolded her arms and brightened up. “Yeah, I do. It's uh- it’s this yearly sword-fighting tournament that the Duke holds. People from all over Serkonos -- and sometimes even the other Isles -- come to Karnaca to enter and show off their swordsmanship skills. I’ve been a few times. It’s pretty incredible to watch,” Beatrici smiled to herself, remembering her brother, every year without fail, insisting he was going to enter the Blade one day, while sitting on Papa’s shoulders (except on the last year they went, of course).

Finn nodded, “Soo… someone winning it at sixteen-years-old would be impressive, right?”

Beatrici huffed, “Yeah- yes, it definitely would. That’s kind of insane, to be honest.” She put her hands on her hips, “Why do you ask?”

“The Imperial Princess chose her new Royal Protector the other week,” the gruff man on the barstool started, before taking another swig of his beer, “and he won the Blade Verbena.”

“At sixteen!” Finn added.

Beatrici’s eyes widened briefly, then she gave Finn a confused look, “What’s a Gristolian doing entering the Blade Verbena at sixteen?” 

_ What’s anyone doing entering the Blade Verbena at sixteen? And winning it at that,  _ Beatrici thought.

“He’s not from Gristol.” the man said, mostly speaking into his beer. “The kid’s from Serkonos- the capital uh- whatever it’s called… you said it earlier.”

“Karnaca?” Beatrici suggested. 

“That’s the one,” the man replied, pointing at her. 

“He’s the first non-Gristolian Royal Protector ever! You Serkonans did it!” Finn exclaimed, lightly punching Beatrici’s arm, “Isn’t that cool?” 

“Yeah, yeah it is,” Beatrici said, rubbing where Finn had hit her, even though he hadn’t actually hurt her at all.

“And you said he’s- what, eighteen or nineteen?” Finn asked the man, to which he nodded in reply. 

“Ain’t noble or even rich, either. Came from the slums or... something,” the man added, with absolutely none of Finn’s enthusiasm. 

Finn raised his eyebrows at the man, “Oh, you didn’t say that before! Soo... someone who’s one: not from Gristol, and two: poor became Royal Protector?” Finn said, counting the numbers on his fingers for emphasis, “I think there might just be hope for the rest of us!” 

Beatrici chuckled, “Oh, yes, I’m sure His Imperial Majesty is already rushing from Dunwall to Morley to ask you to be his new Protector.”

Finn narrowed his eyes at her, “You know I didn’t mean that.”

Beatrici smirked.

Finn turned back to the man at the bar, “So, sir, you know any more interesting facts about the new Royal Protector?” 

The man paused for a few moments, obviously trying to think through his tipsy haze, “Uhm- his name’s... Corvo, I think. Corvo Attano.” 

As he said that name, it seemed like all the blood in Beatrici’s body froze up completely. She looked at him with thinly veiled disbelief, “Sorry, could you- I don’t think I heard you right?”

“His name’s Corvo Attano,” the man begrudgingly repeated, before beginning to chug the remainder of his beer. 

“Oh hey!” Finn pointed excitedly between the man and Beatrici, “Attano! Are you guys related? Do you know the guy? Is he-”

“No.” Beatrici said abruptly, “No I uh- I don’t.”

“Oh,” Finn replied, deflated. 

“Hey I’m- I’m gonna go take my break now,” Beatrici pointed a thumb behind her, not quite looking Finn in the eye. 

“Alright, see ya later,” Finn gave her a small wave and quickly readopted his usual buoyancy. But Beatrici didn’t see the wave; she’d already turned around and started walking to the kitchen door. She almost ran through the small and empty kitchen to get to the back, instead managing to slow herself to a fast walk. She needed some air. She really needed some air. 

Beatrici stepped out into the cold, dark night in the empty alleyway behind the pub, and let out a breath she didn’t even realise she’d been holding. She leaned back on the pub’s wall and forced herself to breathe in and out again. 

She hadn’t heard her brother’s name in almost nine years, and hearing it again frankly felt like a kick in the gut. Especially like that. 

It couldn’t be him… Karnacan, grew up poor, nineteen, the same, very uncommon, name… no, it was him. There was no way it wasn’t him. 

“Shit,” Beatrici muttered to herself in disbelief,  _ “shit!” _

The first thing she thought was that all that meant her brother, her little baby brother was well, and alive, and… was the Imperial Princess’ Royal Protector? And he’d won the Blade Verbena?

She had missed a  _ lot _ . 

Of course she’d missed a lot, Beatrici reminded herself. Corvo would be nineteen now. He was only eleven when she left. Obviously she hadn’t expected him to put his entire life on hold while she was gone, but this was- Beatrici definitely hadn’t been expecting this. 

And she’d just said Corvo wasn’t her brother…

Beatrici briefly tried to again convince herself that, maybe, it might  _ not _ have been her brother they were talking about, but that had lasted all of a second. She knew she’d just lied. 

Finn would have started asking her too many questions, probably. It wasn’t that she wasn’t proud to call him her brother. Of course Beatrici was proud; he was the first ever Royal Protector to not come from Gristol-  _ Void, _ the fact he was Royal Protector was incredible on its own. But… but he was from another life. It wasn’t as if she was ever going to see him again. It wasn’t as if she was ever going to be his sister again. 

Corvo probably hated her anyway. Beatrici remembered him being so angry at their father for  _ dying _ , and that wasn’t even Papa’s fault. So she could imagine how angry he probably was at her for  _ choosing  _ to leave. And she’d just left a note. She hadn’t even said goodbye, not really. 

Hopefully he hated her. That would’ve made everything easier. 

Beatrici sighed. 

She had chosen to leave, but she knew it would have been a lie to say she didn’t regret getting on that boat to Morley at all. Beatrici had left Karnaca when she was sixteen, to go begin a life of adventure across the Isles. Yet here she was, almost nine years later, serving drinks and cleaning up at an okay-at-best pub, still in Morley. This wasn’t what she had set out to do. She doubted it was much different to what her life would have been like had she stayed in Karnaca (and for the first few years, it had been indisputably worse). 

But she’d done it. She’d left her home and her family, and she couldn’t take that back. And there was no way she would have gone crawling back to Karnaca to admit she was wrong and wanted to come back (though, it seemed like that might not even be an option anymore, given Corvo was in Dunwall and she had no idea if Mama was there too). 

It suddenly hit her. He was in Dunwall. He was Royal Protector… that meant  _ he was in Dunwall _ . In Dunwall  _ Tower _ , no less. Corvo  _ made it _ . He’d more than made it, really; not only was he the bodyguard to some noble in fancy Dunwall (the way they’d talked about as hopeful children, dreaming about something better than the Dust District), he was the bodyguard of the  _ Empress-to-be _ herself. 

Beatrici huffed with a slight smile, still not sure she could get her head around… all of this. It was a lot to take in. 

She moved her hand to the front of her leg to feel the lump in her trouser pocket. She pulled her little wooden crow from out her pocket and looked down at it with a smile. She’d almost forgotten it was there in the events of the past... few minutes. 

“You did it… you actually did it,” Beatrici whispered to the bird, as though he might actually be somehow able to hear her, all that way away. 

She ran a thumb over its painted-black surface. Beatrici could tell people that the bird was just her good luck charm, but she couldn’t fool herself about what it was.  _ ‘Another life, huh?’ _ she thought to herself wryly. 

Beatrici put her head back against the wall and closed her fingers around the wooden crow. She’d go back to work soon, but for now she needed a few moments away from everyone- to process everything and try not to cry from the aggressive homesickness that was crawling up her body. 

Beatrici held the crow tightly and stared up at the stars above, wondering if maybe her brother was looking at the same night sky all the way in Dunwall, too so far from home... 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! It feels like I've been wanting to write this fic since _forever_ ; it's nice to actually have it started!  
> I can't tell you what the update schedule for this is going to be, because I Do Not Know. But I can tell you that -- due to my complete inability to do one thing at a time -- pretty much all the chapters are at least 20-50% done, so... yeah. They're coming.


	3. Anything That Can Go Wrong...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Month of Wind, 1842.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there! I am very aware that it's been more than a month since I posted this lmao.  
> I got very very VERY distracted by literally everything and may or may not have forgotten that _I_ actually have to write this chapter if I wanted the fic to update. But it's okay! I got undistracted and now we're here!  
> Also writing cool bitch Masked Felon Corvo is fun, I should do it more often.

Dunwall nights were cold, especially at this time of the year. Thankfully, the Month of Wind wasn’t really living up to its name tonight, and there wasn’t much more than a light breeze rippling across the Wrenhaven. The river was mostly dark except for the lights of the city, reflecting across it. Dunwall Tower’s lights jutted out, high above the rest of the mirrored skyline. 

Beatrici tore her eyes away from the Tower all that way across the river and looked to her left, where Tegan, the scruffy looking ship captain, was walking next to her. _Her_ scruffy looking ship captain. 

Tegan noticed Beatrici looking at her and gave Beatrici a glance before returning her gaze back ahead. “I know I said it before, but I have a bad feeling about tonight.”

Beatrici huffed a little. “Come on, they already paid us half, and we delivered their cargo. They’ll give us the rest of money,” she said, with maybe a _bit_ too much confidence. 

“You say that, but it’s Dunwall. Anything that can go wrong _does_ go wrong when you’re here,” Tegan said pointedly.

Beatrici laughed a little, “You’re being dramatic.”

“I’m being _pragmatic_.” Tegan shrugged emphatically as she walked, “How many times have we done business in Dunwall and had it go wrong?”

“Not enough times for you to guarantee that something bad will happen tonight,” Beatrici said flatly. 

“Oh, what I wouldn’t do to be young and naive like you again,” Tegan said wistfully. 

“You’re fifty. You’re only two years older than me,” Beatrici chuckled slightly.

“That’s two years more life experience, which _means_ you should trust my bad feeling.”

“Uh-huh,” Beatrici smirked, the small scar on her lip quirking up as she did. 

What Mr. Fersel, the man they were on their way to meet, had promised hadn’t quite been ‘too good to be true’ -- Beatrici knew better than to accept ‘too good to be true’ offers, something she hadn’t known at 16 -- but it was damn close. He was paying well… though that was most likely down to the fact Beatrici and Tegan realised the man Mr. Fersel had sent to talk to them in his stead had little-to-no experience with smugglers and their usual costs, and so the two of them had used that to their advantage in price negotiations. That being said, paranoia wasn’t such a bad trait to have in a business like theirs. 

“Something about Fersel is off, and I know it,” Tegan continued.

“Then why did we agree to work with him?” 

Tegan opened her mouth to argue, then closed it again. 

Beatrici nodded ahead of them. “Too late now.” 

Tegan and Beatrici stopped walking just as the red-bricked building came in sight. It was a very average-looking Dunwall house in between several other average looking houses. Not a purpose built office building by any means. 

They had been told to go here by the men at the dockside warehouse when the cargo had been delivered. The workers had said something about “the bossman” not trusting his workers with that kind of money. Or any money, really. 

“How do I look?” Tegan asked, even though Beatrici knew she didn’t that much care how she looked. 

Beatrici looked Tegan up and down. Tegan’s dark grey thigh-length coat was uncharacteristically clean tonight, as was her red scarf. Her hair, however, was as messy as always, a short mass of light grey and blonde curls. Tegan had _tried_ to neaten it up, as she usually did before meetings, but that had lasted all of five minutes before it popped back into its usual state. 

“Like an upstanding businesswoman.” Beatrici smiled. Beatrici put her hands on Tegan’s shoulders and leaned over to give her a quick kiss on the forehead, “It’s going to be fine. You just hate Dunwall.” 

“It better be fine,” Tegan muttered wryly, with a slight smile. 

Beatrici dropped her hands back to her own sides, a silent signal of readiness. 

Tegan fixed her coat’s lapel and began purposefully walking from the alley to the building’s front. Beatrici adjusted her low ponytail a little tighter and followed after Tegan. 

They reached the simple wooden door and Tegan knocked. 

“Yes?”

“We’re here to see Mr. Fersel.”

A balding and rather bored looking man opened the door enough to see Tegan and Beatrici, the door chain stopping it from being opened too far. “Name?” he asked, sounding bored out of his mind.

“Tegan Blackwood, captain of the Black Fox. And this is my first mate, Bea,” Tegan pointed a thumb at Beatrici behind her. 

The man gave both of them a still-quite-bored look before shutting the door again. Three metal clicks sounded behind the door and the man reopened the door, fully this time. “Follow me.”

Beatrici and Tegan shared a quick glance and fell in behind the man. He led them into a narrow hallway with simple painted-cream walls. He wasn’t a particularly fast walker, and Beatrici almost wanted to nudge him and tell him to hurry it up a bit. 

They passed a room in which six men were playing cards. All of them looked big and strong enough to be guards, though none were in any sort of uniform, just normal shirts and waistcoats. Gang members or hired muscle, maybe. They didn’t look up from their game as Tegan & Beatrici walked by. 

“Is someone going to wake Rik up?” one of the card-playing men.

“Nah, let him sleep,” another replied.

 _Tight ship they run here_ , thought Beatrici ironically. Maybe she and Tegan didn’t have anything to worry about. She faced back ahead of her just as they reached the end of the hallway and the bottom of a staircase. The man walked up it, keeping his tired and annoyingly slow pace. 

The man, Tegan, and Beatrici reached the top of the stairs and walked a little way into the hallway, where two guards were standing by a simple door. 

“No weapons,” one guard said, holding out a dark wooden tray for Tegan and Beatrici to put their weapons on. 

Beatrici and Tegan shared a glance. After a moment, Tegan reached for the gun under her coat, and Beatrici reached for the crossbow hanging off the side of her belt. They both tentatively placed their weapons on the tray.

The guard gave her folded-up crossbow an odd look as he took it. Beatrici knew guns were supposedly ‘better’, but Beatrici didn’t like them much. Plus, they were louder and bullets were just more expensive—

Then a guard behind her pulled the little wooden crow out of Beatrici’s outer jacket pocket. Beatrici turned her head to face him, “Hey! That’s not a weapon.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” the man said in a tone of voice that made Beatrici want to punch his lights out. 

Tegan put a gentle hand on her arm, and gave her a subtle and knowing look of _‘try not to’_. Beatrici shut her mouth and folded her arms, returning to face the front of the hallway. It was fine. That was just some dumb power-play. She’d get it back later, with her crossbow. 

Beatrici watched as one of the men carried the small tray into a room down the hall, obviously having a detailed look at the crow, and reminded herself to just think of the very substantial sum of money they were about to receive. And of the knife happily hidden in her boot. 

“This way,” the tired man said, directing Tegan and Beatrici to a room almost right across from the stairs. He opened the door for them.

Beatrici couldn’t help but get the feeling they were trying to make this a lot more pompous than it actually was, as if they were here to visit some important Lord, and not receive money for a recently completed smuggling job. 

Beatrici and Tegan walked into the room. The office was done up in the style of Gristolian restraint. All dark colours and dark wood. There were a few cupboards along the walls, probably for files and books. Something about the office seemed rather rushed, as if they didn’t really plan on staying here long. 

There were two men in the room, no guards. One, the man Beatrici and Tegan had met before, and sitting behind the carved desk at the centre-back of the room was presumably the man in charge, Mr. Fersel. 

He wasn’t exactly what Beatrici had been expecting. He looked a little too well-off to be doing business in this part of Dunwall, with his expensive-looking, tailored suit and well-groomed light brown hair. He didn’t look rich in the way some gang leaders did, but in the way men from the estate district with inflated senses of their own self importance looked. And he had that distinct air of seeming like he thought everyone in that room (bar himself, obviously) was beneath him.

Fersel didn’t stand up to greet them and there were no chairs in front of the desk for them to sit on.

“Tegan Blackwood?” Fersel asked, sounding bored but in a different way to the tired man. He sounded more like he was bored because this all simply wasn’t worth his time. 

“That’s me.” 

Fersel made a beckoning gesture over his shoulder and the other businessman put a leather case onto the desk in front of Fersel, the latches facing Tegan and Beatrici. Fersel then pushed it forward, gesturing for Tegan to open it. 

“It’s exactly the amount we agreed on,” Fersel said snootily.

Tegan opened the case to check. It was full of coins, and if Beatrici had to take a rough guess, it _was_ what they were owed. 

“That will be all,” Fersel said dismissively, as if they might just be serving him tea. 

“Well, it’s been a pleasure doing business with you,” Tegan lied, barely missing a beat with a polite and very forced smile. She held her hand out for Mr. Fersel to shake, but he simply ignored it.

Tegan retracted her hand but kept her now slightly more seething smile. She and Beatrici shared a slightly confused glance before turning to the door and opening it. 

The guards outside saw them and one went back into the room at the end of the hall to retrieve their weapons. Beatrici didn’t particularly know why they’d taken them all the way there when the meeting had only lasted a minute. 

The guards gave them their weapons and the tired man led them back out the building. He might as well have shoved them out the door before he decisively slammed it. 

Beatrici glanced at Tegan and shrugged. They began walking back to the ship, money in hand. 

After a minute or two of walking in the almost-quiet streets, when they were well away from Fersel’s office, Beatrici nudged Tegan, “See? Nothing went wrong. We have our money and it worked out fine.”

“And we have a free suitcase,” Tegan added, shaking the case a little. 

Beatrici huffed amusedly. “And we have a free suitcase. What gentlemen.” 

“A real gentleman,” Tegan muttered. “He was looking at us like we were plague rats.”

“We’re not working with him again.” 

“Tch, yeah,” Tegan agreed, “And we had to go all the way there for him to give us the money. Walking up the stairs took longer than the meeting.”

“Would you like to have stayed longer?” Beatrici teased. 

Tegan glanced at Beatrici. “Good point.”

“Jackasses.”

Tegan nodded, “Yeah, what was with them taking your crow?”

Beatrici patted her jacket pocket and stopped walking. “Shit,” she hissed.

“What?” Tegan stopped walking too.

“Shit. They still have it.”

“Still have what— your crow?” Tegan asked, furrowing her brow.

“Yeah, my crow!” Beatrici turned back in the direction of the building. 

“...what are you doing?”

Beatrici whipped around to face Tegan again, “I need it!”

“Bea, honey, I don’t know if they’re gonna give it back if you ask nicely. Or uh- let you in. They didn’t seem all that happy to have us there.” 

Beatrici considered Tegan’s words for a few seconds. “I’ll steal it back.” she said, determination in her voice. “I saw which room they took our stuff to, it’ll be easy.”

“Are you sure about that?” 

“Those guys had the collective intelligence of a rat’s ass. How hard could it be?” Beatrici said dismissively, not even sure she was convincing herself. 

“That’s… an even worse idea than just asking. They’ll probably kill you if they see you stealing from them. Or at least give you to the City Watch.” Tegan pointed out, sounding more than a little exasperated. “It’s just a wooden bird! It’s not wor-”

“You know it’s more than that,” Beatrici interrupted, looking Tegan in the eye with a deadly seriousness. 

Tegan opened her mouth to argue, but closed it again. “ _Outsider’s eyes,_ ” she swore, before pointing at Beatrici, “Don’t get caught. And come straight back to the ship as soon as you’re done.” 

Beatrici leaned and gave Tegan a quick kiss on the cheek, “Aye, captain.” 

“If only I’d left you in that pub all those years ago, my life’d be _so_ much less stressful,” Tegan muttered wryly.

Beatrici gave Tegan a smile, “And so much more boring.” 

Tegan cocked her head to the sides, pretending to consider Beatrici’s point, and Beatrici turned around and began walking back to the meeting place.

“Don’t die,” Tegan called after her.

“I never do,” Beatrici replied with a mock salute as she walked. 

-:-

It didn’t take Beatrici long to wind back through the Dunwall streets to reach the building.

After climbing onto one of the surrounding rooftops, Beatrici had worked out where the room where the man had put their things was on the outside of the building. And not only was there a window straight to the room, but the window was _open._ “They’re almost making it _too_ easy,” Beatrici whispered to herself. She was right about them having the intelligence of a rat’s ass. 

Beatrici watched the room for a minute or two to see if someone was inside, but saw no-one. Satisfied she could get in and out without being seen, Beatrici stood up on the flat roof she had crouched on, and took a few steps back. Then she ran and jumped, flinging herself through the air. 

Beatrici managed to grab the edge of the roof, her body hitting the brick abruptly. Happy she’d made the jump and not fallen to her death or broken something, she shimmied along the roof’s edge before carefully dropping onto the window ledge. She took a moment to breath and noted the gutter pipe running down right next to the window. That would make getting out quicker. 

Beatrici slid through the window and dropped into the room as silently as she could, while trying to ignore the voice in her head that was telling her that she was getting too old to do this and that this all was a bad idea.

Inside, she glanced around. A dim yellow lamp on the ceiling was the only source of light in the small room. The side walls were stacked with badly installed shelves, all unlevel and tilting, above some dark grey-green cupboards. 

Beatrici scanned the shelves for the crow but saw no sign of the bird. Had they taken it elsewhere? Stolen it? _Come on, where are you?_

Beatrici took a step forward and felt something small and solid under her boot. She removed her foot to see the little crow lying on the floor. _There you are_ , Beatrici thought. The guard must have dropped it. 

Beatrici reached down to grab it, a little too quickly for an inanimate object that wasn’t going anywhere, and dusted it off. She held it in her palm and ran a thumb over the patchy black paint that had slowly worn off in places, making it more pale brown than actually black. 

Beatrici sighed quietly. Maybe it was stupid to have taken such a risk to go back for something so small and useless. Really, it was stupid to have forgotten about it in the first place. But she’d take those risks to get it back. It was the last thing Beatrici had of Karnaca. Of her family. She couldn’t leave it behind, as much as she might’ve wanted to. She needed it. 

Beatrici was about to pocket the crow and move to the window when the relative silence was interrupted by the muffled sounds of fighting and yelling, coming from somewhere in the building. Not right outside, but upstairs? Beatrici instinctively lowered into a slight crouch. 

The fighting and yelling continued for a few short moments, before stopping abruptly. Then there was a very undignified yelp.

Beatrici paused. _What just happened?_

Curious, she quietly moved to the door and put her eye up to the keyhole to see if anything was in the hallway. Beatrici’s breath caught in her throat. One of the guards -- the one who took her and Tegan’s things -- was slumped against the wall across from the room, unmoving. Was he dead? 

She waited a few moments and glanced around the hallway as extensively as she could with her keyhole-view. The hallway seemed otherwise empty. She took a short breath in and -- against her better judgement -- slowly opened the door and tensely crept out into the hallway. 

_Thank the Void_. The hallway was empty except for the slumped guard. She moved a little closer to the guard, and saw that there was no blood on him. She put two fingers to the man’s neck and felt the pulse beneath his skin; he was alive. 

“Tell me who you’re working with,” a voice startled Beatrici.

It took her a second to realise it _wasn’t_ talking to her, but someone in a room down the hall- the office? It was a low and gravelly voice, definitely a man. The voice didn’t yell the words, nor did it sound all that urgent, but it was strangely commanding nonetheless.

Beatrici looked down the empty hallway, to where the office door was. _Who is that and who are they talking to?_

Beatrici had to find out. Or, she _felt_ like she had to find out. Same thing. 

Ignoring the voice in her head that was telling her to go back like she’d said she would, Beatrici snuck down the length of the hall, wary to keep her footsteps as silent as she possibly could and sticking close to the wall. As she got nearer, she saw that the office door was partly open -- open enough for her to see two bodies -- one guard and the businessman that wasn’t Mr. Fersel -- on the floor near the wall to the right of the door. They were splayed about as if they’d both been pushed back- no, _thrown_ back by something. Something strong. 

Beatrici heard the sounds of a struggle coming from the left -- behind the wall she was leaning on. She knew better than to push the door open for a better look, so she peered through the crack between the door and the doorframe on the hinges’ side.

At the edge of the room, a tall man in a long, scruffy black coat and a hood pulled up over his head was holding Mr. Fersel up against the wall by the collar of his shirt, with a sword lengthways to the whimpering businessman’s throat. Fersel’s feet were a good couple of inches off the floor and he was squirming like a hagfish to get out of the man’s grip, but to no avail. 

Beatrici’s eyes widened. Had that one man taken out these men? Given that nobody was running to help Fersel, the man must have taken out the men downstairs too. 

Fersel stopped squirming to tell, “Guards! Someone! Help!” 

“They can’t hear you. Now, _tell me,”_ the hooded man commanded again, almost growling it this time. Beatrici couldn’t see the hooded man’s face from the angle that she was watching, but she doubted it was anything like the polite smiles she and Tegan were giving Fersel earlier. 

“The Regenters! I’m- we’re working with the- the Regenters,” Fersel said, his confident and uptight businessman demeanour completely gone. 

The Regenters… Beatrici recognised that name from somewhere. Were they those crazed fanatics who obsessed over the tyrannous regency from five years ago? Shit. Tegan was right; something really was off about this guy. 

It occurred to Beatrici that she should leave and not get in the way of whatever gang violence was going on here. It also occurred to Beatrici that she was far too intrigued to actually leave. 

“I need names.”

Fersel shook his head, “They’d kill me if I told you!”

The hooded man pushed his sword up to Fersel’s neck so it drew a drop of blood, as if to remind Fersel that he would kill Fersel too. Only the hooded man was here, and Fersel’s Regenter friends were not, so Fersel ought to worry more about the former.

Fersel seemed to get the message, “There’s- there’s a list over there, in the s-second drawer.” He pointed a shaking finger behind the hooded man, probably at the desk, “It’s a list of our- our buildings and associates.”

The hooded man didn’t make any acknowledgement of what Fersel said bar lifting the pressure on the sword slightly. “Who’s your leader?” 

“I- I don’t know. We use codenames so the- the City Watch and spies can’t find us if they intercept our messages and I’ve- I’ve never met our leader.” 

The hooded man slammed Fersel against the wall.

“I swear! I haven’t! Please!” Beatrici was sure Fersel was about to cry. 

The hooded man tilted his head and moved on to his next line of inquiry. “The attack on the Empress. When is it?”

Fersel’s expression somehow became even more shocked, “How do you know about that?” 

Beatrici furrowed her brow. Maybe this _wasn’t_ just some Dunwall gang violence. But Fersel obviously didn’t think the man was a spy or city watch at all… so what was he? 

“When is it?” the hooded man repeated, something that might have been anger seeping into his voice. 

“It’s- it’s in a week from now. It’s supposed- it’s supposed to be at the opening next week.”

“What are you planning to do?”

”I don’t know!” Fersel all but squealed. “I don’t know what’s meant to happen- I was- I was just in charge of gathering resources. They didn’t- don’t tell me their plans!”

The hooded man tightened his grip on Fersel and tilted his sword up a little. 

“Please. That’s all I know… please don’t hurt me,” Fersel whimpered. 

The hooded man paused for a few moments. “If _anything_ you’ve said tonight is a lie, your death won’t be quick,” he said slowly and with a chilling sureness. 

Fersel gulped in fear and nodded. 

The hooded man lowered his sword away from Fersel’s neck and almost dropped Fersel, only to pull him back into a chokehold with his arm. Fersel silently choked for a few seconds.

Beatrici quickly realised she needed to leave. The hooded man would be walking out the room soon, with whatever he needed, and she still had enough rational thought to know she didn’t want to be in the way of a man like that. 

Beatrici slowly raised herself from her crouch, still keeping an eye on the man who was just putting Fersel on the floor, but as she did, the small crow slipped out of her hands and fell to the ground with a wooden clunk. 

It was a quiet and meek sound, but to the slight panic with a stranglehold on Beatrici, it might as well have been as loud as a gunshot ripping through the air.

The hooded man whipped his head around to look at the noise, finally baring his face under the hood. Except where his face should have been there was only a _myth._ A skull. A crude metal skull, with wires sticking out of its malformed grin and glassy eyes. 

The face of the legendary Masked Felon. 

Beatrici immediately put her back to the wall and prayed to whatever might be out there that he hadn’t seen her. Her heart thumped in her chest. She should have left when she got the crow. She really should have left when she got the crow. If anything she’d been told about the Masked Felon was true, this was very, very bad. 

After a couple seconds, Beatrici picked the crow up and ever-so-slowly turned back to see if the Masked Felon was still looking in her direction. But he wasn’t there. It was just the unconscious bodies in the room. She hadn’t heard him go anywhere, but-

Beatrici saw quiet movement in the corner of her eye. She shot up and took a few quick, defensive steps back, still crouching slightly. 

The Masked Felon stared straight back at her. He stopped in the doorway for a moment before taking a step into the middle of the hallway. The whale-oil light flickered behind him. 

_Shit._ _Shit._ Unsure what to do, Beatrici held her hands up in surrender, with the crow still between her thumb and forefinger. She wanted to put it back in her pocket, but that would look like she was reaching for a weapon, and probably get her killed. _Void,_ _this is bad_. She definitely should have left when she got the crow. 

Beatrici tried to ignore her panic and the fact she was face to face with some kind of deadly legend, and forced herself to speak, “I’m- I swear I’m not working with them.”

The Masked Felon didn’t move to attack, nor did he acknowledge what she’d said. He just tilted his head to the side slightly, and kept looking at her with what almost felt like curiousness. 

All of Dunwall seemed still and silent in a way it had never been before. The light flickered. Beatrici didn’t move or speak, unsure of what the Masked Felon was waiting for in his near-stillness. She wanted to take some more steps back, she wanted to run. But her enveloping fear had her trying to move as little as she could. _What is he doing-_

“Beatrici?” the Masked Felon shattered the silence.

A new wave of shock and fear ran over Beatrici’s body. “ _How do you know my_ …?” she couldn’t even finish the sentence. He knew her name. _He knew her name._ How did he know her name? Was he truly some all-knowing, vengeant phantom of the Void, like she’d heard? 

The re-settling silence was suddenly filled with angry footsteps and before either of them had the chance to say any more, a man ran from the stairs brandishing a sword. Beatrici hadn’t even noticed him coming. She was willing to bet the Masked Felon hadn’t either; he only just managed to parry the hit. 

But Beatrici saw her chance and she _ran_. She dashed into the store room, unsure whether she heard the Felon yell _"No!"_ or not, and all but threw herself out of the window. She slid down the gutter pipe and dropped to the streets.

And she ran and she ran, and didn’t look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyways, we're back at the beginning again sort of! I know the first 4 chapters are a little jumpy, but after that, it's all linear. Dw.  
> I forgot to mention it before, but the title of this fic is from the [song of the same name by Groove Armada](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CmkW04H3yGY). It's one of my favourite songs... you should listen to it.


	4. History

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Corvo is reeling from the night's events.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You definitely don't need to have read the Wyrmwood Deceit comics to read this fic at all, but [this one page](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/494943280522461185/735615665028857876/image0.jpg) might help your Reading Experience?   
> Quick shoutout to my friend [Blue](https://sphyrne.tumblr.com/) for beta-ing these past two chapters!!

Being under the shade of the trees by the Karnaca docks was a nice respite from the hot afternoon sun, though Corvo found himself suddenly missing the warmth on his back. 

Corvo glanced up the large tree’s trunk. Nowadays, it felt like he found his sister up there more often than he found her at home. He did have to admit that it was a nice tree. Tall enough to have a good view of the harbour and the ships and be away from everyone. Well, everyone except Corvo, that was. 

At sixteen years old, Beatrici was taller and a far better climber than Corvo, only eleven. But he could still follow her most of the time. Maybe a little- a  _ lot _ slower, though. He still needed her help to climb some things, but luckily for him, the trees by the docks weren’t among them. 

Corvo took a few steps back, and ran to the tree, getting enough speed to go up part of the tree. He grabbed onto the nearest branch and pulled himself up onto it in a practiced manoeuvre. 

Crouching on the first branch, he glanced up and caught sight of Beatrici’s pale red dress further up in the tree. Corvo huffed a little. Of  _ course  _ she had to be all the way up there. 

Readying himself to climb further, Corvo scrambled up and half-flopped onto the chunky tree branch on his stomach with very little grace. He quickly looked down to his light brown trousers to make sure he hadn’t ripped them or anything.  _ Nope, fine. _

He had to be careful. He didn’t want to earn another of his mother’s disapproving looks when he came home with his trousers’ knees ripped from a fall or a fight. She could always mend them, of course, but every time she reminded him that they couldn’t afford new clothes often, and that he ought not to go around climbing every tree in Karnaca. He wasn’t going to stop, of course. He just needed to get better. 

Corvo continued to climb, getting closer and closer until he was finally crouched on the branch right below his sister. She kept staring out at the sea ahead. She obviously hadn’t heard him yet. Or, if she had, she hadn’t reacted. 

Corvo stood, “Move up.” 

Beatrici startled hard. Corvo was sure anyone else might have lost their balance and simply fallen out the tree, but not his sister.  _ Hadn’t heard him yet.  _ “ _ Void, _ Corvo,” she exhaled, looking back at him, keeping her grip on the tree. “We really need to get you a bell or something.” Beatrici shuffled further along the branch. 

Corvo smirked and pulled himself up to sit next to her. “Like the lady across the street’s cat?” 

“Tch, exactly,” Beatrici gave a slight nod, amused. 

Corvo settled on the branch, and they both sat there in silence for a few moments, gazing out at the view from the tall tree. Below, the docks were bustling with all sorts of people, Serkonan and not, heading to their ships or packing cargo. The sound of seagulls mixed in with the chattering and working sounds of the lively docks and the lapping water. The clear blue sea was glistening under the sun like it was covered in light dusting of silver, and held all the many ships coming and going with exports, imports, and travellers aboard. They’d be from and off to places all across the Empire, faraway lands that Corvo and Beatrici had only ever seen in borrowed books, or never even see at all. 

Corvo kept his gaze ahead. “Mama told me to tell you that we have to make dinner tonight because she’s working late.”

“She’s always working late,” Beatrici muttered.

Corvo’s mouth drew to a thin line. Beatrici wasn’t wrong; their mother had been working more and more and more in the months since their father died. “She has to...” Corvo pointed out quietly.

“Yeah, I know,” Beatrici replied, obviously trying not to sound too harsh. “But you didn’t come all the way here just to tell me that though, did you?” she narrowed her eyes knowingly. 

Corvo shook his head and looked down at the ground far below.

Beatrici stayed silent, prompting Corvo to say whatever he was going to say. 

“Do you still want to leave?” he asked, looking back up at his sister.

Beatrici sighed, “ _ Corvo _ -”

“Do you?” he repeated more insistently. 

Beatrici glanced down, “You know I do.” She looked back at her brother, “I’ve made my decision, and you can’t change my mind. Nobody can. I  _ am  _ going to leave Karnaca.”

Corvo nodded slowly. “Do you know when?” he asked. 

Beatrici’s mouth drew to a thin line, “Not exactly. But soon. Definitely soon.” 

Corvo nodded again, and paused for a few moments. “Close your eyes and hold your hand out,” he said, suddenly and authoritatively.

“O-kay...?” Beatrici shut her eyes and held her hand in front of her, palm up.

Corvo placed a small object in her hand and closed her fingers around it, “Alright, you can open your eyes now.”

Beatrici opened her eyes and hand, and inspected the object now sitting on her palm. It was a little painted-black wooden bird, about the length of her palm. Nicely carved, too. Smooth and fairly detailed. 

Beatrici looked back at Corvo, “What’s this for?”

“It’s something to remember me by. When you leave.” 

“Pfft- you’re my little brother! I could never forget you,” Beatrici said, nudging him with her elbow.

Corvo smiled “Yeah. Just in case though.”

“Uh-huh. Just in case…” Beatrici said with an agreeing nod. 

Corvo pointed at the bird, “It’s a crow.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Beatrici chuckled. 

Corvo reached for his trouser pocket, “And I got one too!” He held a white wooden bird out, an almost exact copy of Beatrici’s aside from the colour. 

“Oh, so, actually, you were going to forget  _ me!” _ Beatrici mocked offense.

“No!” Corvo said defensively, laughing a little. 

“My own brother was going to forget all about me, his wonderful big sister! Unbelievable,” she teased.

“I wasn’t!”

“Are you sure?” Beatrici narrowed her eyes at her brother, smirking. 

Corvo nodded. 

“Alright,” she said slowly, obviously exaggerating how unconvinced she was. After a few seconds, Beatrici’s expression softened as she glanced at the fine craftsmanship of her bird again, “Thank you. This is- it’s really nice.”

Corvo gave her a big smile. 

“Though... where’d you get the money for them?” Beatrici asked with a smirk. 

“It’s rude to ask how much a gift cost,” Corvo tutted, imitating their mother. 

Beatrici laughed, “Oh no, don’t start with that. Next thing you know, you’ll be quoting the scriptures every ten seconds too.” 

Corvo gave Beatrici a little chuckle. He brought his bird back up and looked down at it, “I um- I tried to make them myself -- like Papa taught us -- but it didn’t go very well.” 

Beatrici raised an eyebrow, “Because you never actually  _ listened _ when he was telling us how to do it.”

“I did!” 

“Uh huh,” Beatrici smirked, sounding completely unconvinced. 

Corvo glared at his sister.

Pretending not to notice his look, she glanced between the two birds. “Did you get them from that old lady a few blocks away?” Beatrici cocked her head in the general direction of the woman’s stall. 

Corvo nodded. 

Beatrici made a point of inspecting the bird again, before looking at her brother, “I’m pretty sure she’s a witch.”

Corvo’s eyes widened. “So they might be cursed?” he asked, suddenly a lot more interested in the bird. 

“Maybe,” Beatrici said, with that special I’m-older-so-I-know-more tone of voice.

“ _ Cool _ ,” Corvo said, examining his maybe-cursed bird. He was happy the lady hadn’t made him pay extra for a curse. They probably cost a lot. 

Beatrici looked at her brother and gripped the bird in her hand a little tighter, “Thank you, Corvo. Seriously, thank you.”

Corvo smiled up at her. 

Beatrici took a little breath in, “Does this mean you’re okay with me leaving?”

Corvo’s expression sombered and he glanced off to the water. “No... I still think it’s stupid, and I don’t get it. But I…” Corvo shrugged, “I can’t stop you.” 

Beatrici nodded and paused for a few moments, taking his words in. Then she nudged him a little, “Think of it this way; you’ll finally get your own room.” 

Corvo nodded with a sad smile and looked out to the docks. 

Beatrici frowned a little too. Beatrici put a hand on her brother’s shoulder and looked him in the eyes. “Hey, I’ll find you again. I promise.” 

“When you’re a fine lady, who’s travelled the world and married some rich noble in Dunwall?” Corvo smirked at her, brightening up. 

“Heh- hopefully,” Beatrici smiled back, returning her hand to the tree branch. They both returned to looking at the ships and Karnaca’s glistening blue sea. “Hopefully…”

>:<

Beatrici was alive. 

Corvo’s sister was alive.

Not only was she alive, but she was in  _ Dunwall _ . Corvo had  _ seen _ her. He’d seen her tonight, for the first time in thirty-three years. His mind was still racing. He was back in the Tower, back in his chambers, but he hadn’t even changed out of his old coat yet -- the one he only wore as the Masked Felon. And he hadn’t even re-covered his Mark. He was dimly aware that anyone could barge in and see it, but apparently not aware enough to do anything about it. He couldn’t think about anything but what had happened earlier.

Tonight was meant to be a simple information gathering mission. Just an easy interrogation and an investigation, something almost  _ routine _ for him. 

All of his prior information pointed to (what was left of) the Regenters planning another attempt on Emily’s life in about a week, which Corvo obviously had to stop at all costs. He hadn’t found out what exactly they had planned to do yet, but if it was anything like their attack on Emily’s carriage last year, he needed to make  _ sure _ it was stopped before it ever had the chance to start. He couldn’t let anyone get that close to hurting her again. 

And there were some things Corvo couldn’t trust the City Watch to do, and some that his spies just weren’t able to do. Tonight had fallen into the subsection of both categories. It needed Corvo’s skills, and the reputation of a certain masked phantom. 

And tonight had gone fine. It had gone just as expected; he’d taken out the guards with ease, and Fersel had been just as forthcoming as men like him always were. 

Corvo preferred stealth, but sometimes things required something of a  _ show _ \-- it made people far more talkative. People were usually very happy to tell everything to the masked myth who they’d watched take out a room of people and who now had a sword to their throat. And besides, Corvo didn’t exactly have- he found it very hard to incentivise people with pain in interrogations. Too many memories of being on the other side. So a show was what he had to do. 

But then he’d heard a small noise in the hall outside, and not one to take chances, he activated Dark Vision. The yellow figure of a person was standing by the door, back to the wall like they were hiding. Corvo knew it wasn’t someone he’d seen in the building before, so he was confused -- had he missed a room? Had they called for reinforcements? 

He walked towards the door with near-silent footsteps, sword in hand and ready for a fight, and came into the hallway. 

And then he saw her. 

He should’ve spoken sooner, done something. Instead, he froze the very second he recognised her. His  _ sister _ . 

Obviously much older than when he knew her -- and her hair was longer, tied up, and greying a little at the roots, and there was a new scar on her lip -- but still so easily recognisable as his long-lost Beatrici. And the crow in her hand had only confirmed it. He’d recognised her, and suddenly he wasn’t an infamous vigilante, or even the Royal Protector or Spymaster; he was just some kid from Karnaca who’d lost too much of his family. 

_ His sister was alive.  _

And then that thug he’d thought it would be fine to leave sleeping came up the stairs, and by the time he’d fought him off, Beatrici was long gone. There was no sign of her at all, and Dark Vision only had such a range. 

If only he hadn’t used up so much Void energy beforehand, he might’ve been able to stop time or blast the guard back. Or if only he hadn’t been so distracted and had heard the man attacking him, he might’ve been able to dispatch him quick enough to go after Beatrici. If. 

_ If. _

But even if he had found her, gone after her, what would he have done? Take the mask off and casually say,  _ ‘Hey Beatrici, it’s been a while’ _ and expect a perfect family reunion? He doubted she would have recognised him. He was so far from the young boy she’d left behind. 

It still seemed so strange to think-  _ his sister was alive.  _

Whatever he’d expected, it hadn’t happened. He hadn’t found her. She’d vanished, again. He’d lost her again. Just like that night when he was eleven, he couldn’t stop her -- didn’t stop her. 

He took too long to take out the guard, far longer than it should have taken him for a simple and poorly trained fighter like that, and he sped to the room that she’d disappeared into. But Corvo had known he wouldn’t find her there; he had opened the window before going into the office in order to make his escape to the rooftops quicker. 

He searched for her. He got out the window and onto the building’s roof, and activated Dark Vision again, but there was no sign of her. Civilians, all in their homes, only a few walking the streets below. He moved across rooftops, searching for a certain yellow figure. None of them were her. 

Dark Vision only had such a range anyway, and he had no idea where she was going. Corvo couldn’t search all of Dunwall in one night, as much as he wanted to. He had lost her again. 

After looking for her turned up with nothing, Corvo had (distractedly) tried to go back to his previous mission, not sure he’d completely comprehended what he’d just seen, not sure if his eyes were just playing tricks on him. _Not sure_ _if the Outsider was just playing tricks on him._

He’d found some information to point him forward. The list that Fersel had shown him to, some correspondence between members and missives to one another. Nothing that actually told him who the leaders were or what  _ exactly _ was being planned, though. The Regenters were unfortunately smart, and all used codenames, like Fersel had said. The person that Corvo assumed was the leader signed off with just a symbol of a stag, which didn’t tell him anything. 

And it seemed Fersel was telling the truth; given that nothing hinted to what was meant to happen in the attack, Corvo could assume that the higher-ups didn’t trust the man with that information. 

With his mission done, Corvo had searched and searched around the area again before he left, for any sign, any lead to where she might have gone, but came up with nothing.  _ He had lost her again. _

Corvo had eventually forced himself to return to the Tower, knowing it wouldn’t be long before the building began to wake up again. But he hadn’t stopped thinking about her; he very much doubted he would any time soon -- doubted he even  _ could  _ stop thinking about her. 

Why was she there? She’d said she wasn’t working with the Regenters, but people lied. Especially when they didn’t want to be in the crosshairs of a masked man with a sharp sword. Though she definitely hadn’t been there when he’d first checked the building. He  _ knew _ she hadn’t been there when he’d first checked the building. Why had she come in? 

And why did she even have the crow in her hand? If Corvo wasn’t so confused -- or completely overwhelmed with the fact his sister was  _ alive _ at all -- he might have found comfort in the fact his sister had kept the small gift. But it wasn’t as if she could have known that the Masked Felon was Corvo. And if she did, he doubted showing him that would have been the first thing she did. He couldn’t make sense of it. Any of it. 

Most importantly, where was she now? Could Corvo find her again? Too many questions, and not enough answers. 

_ His sister was alive.  _

Corvo ran a hand through his hair, his hands still not quite used to it being this short, and looked down at the white wooden bird sitting small in his other hand. 

The first thing he did when he got back to his chambers tonight was find it. Corvo liked to pretend he wasn’t a sentimental man, but he’d kept the small bird since the day he bought it and gave its counterpart to his sister. One of the few things he had taken with him to Dunwall from Serkonos. 

The little thing had stayed with him in every Grand Guard barrack, in the Tower Guard, and in his rooms throughout his time as Royal Protector. He had been worried it might have been taken when Burrows’ City Watch raided his room for false evidence of planning to kill-- after everything that happened during the Rat Plague. It certainly hadn’t been very high on his list of priorities by the time he and Emily had finally returned to the Tower, but the fact it had remained untouched was a comfort. A single, insignificant constant in the chaotic storm of his life. 

Corvo had tried to search for Beatrici when he first came to Dunwall. As subtly as and in what little ways he, a low-down Tower guard, could. Being appointed Royal Protector the next year had afforded more influence and resources, but more people looking at him. More people looking for a weakness, like a missing sister. And he couldn’t exactly have used up the Crown’s spies just to find a person who had willingly left him. 

Corvo had never found anything about her in those years and years he searched. Not even a trace. Nothing that told him what she might have been doing, if she’d ever made it to Dunwall, whether she was even  _ alive _ . 

Despite that, he’d only properly stopped fifteen years ago, when Emily was born. When he’d decided to give up on the lost hope of his old family, and focus on the family he did have -- even if Jess and Emily  _ publicly  _ weren’t his family. And he had. He’d done his best to let go of all the grief of losing his family in Serkonos, tried not to think too much of what his family then would have thought of his current family. 

But then everything went wrong. His family was torn apart again. He lost Jess, the same way-- no, in a  _ worse _ way than how he’d lost his parents and his sister. So much worse. And for those six months in Coldridge, he’d been completely alone again, barely knowing if Emily was safe or not. And Coldridge and his grief had dredged up every bad memory, every loss, and made plenty of new ones. 

But he made it out. He escaped thanks to those Loyalist snakes and his own skills. He found his daughter, saved her (twice), and -- despite everything -- they had returned home. Emily became Empress, and he once again was Lord Protector. And he tried his best to put all those memories and losses behind him once again, no matter how hard they forced themselves back on him; he had to focus on Emily and fixing the chaos Burrows’ wrought, not his own emotions. Given how busy he was most of the time, it wasn’t hard. But everything was threatening to flood back now. 

Corvo felt many things about his sister, and he understood most of the those things. What he didn’t quite understand -- or perhaps, didn’t  _ want  _ to understand -- was the guilt he felt around her. He knew she had left of her own accord. She  _ wanted  _ to leave, wanted to find her path separate from his. He should have hated her for that, abandoning him and their mother only mere months after their father’s death. But no,  _ he  _ felt bad for it. He felt guilty for not stopping her. Guilty for never finding her, and for giving up. But mostly, guilty because he alone did what they were both meant to do.

They’d both dreamed about going to Dunwall -- anywhere but Karnaca’s  _ ‘Dust District’ _ , really -- and becoming something more there. But Corvo had been the one to get there. He had been the one to make a name for himself.  _ More than one name for himself, _ he thought with a glance to his Outsider’s Mark. 

Beatrici was meant to be the one who became a noble Lady, not Corvo. He should have only been some soldier. Yet here he was,  _ Lord _ Corvo Attano, in his chambers -- the Royal Protector and Spymaster’s chambers -- in Dunwall Tower of all places _. _ The greatest noble “house” in the Empire. And not far from his  _ daughter _ , the Empress of the Isles herself. It was more than he and his sister could ever have dreamt up, but it had always felt more than a little wrong to him. He doubted he ever would really understand it. 

But Corvo understood one thing very well: he  _ had _ to find Beatrici. He knew she was out there now, and he wasn’t going to give up on her again. He would find his sister. And, conveniently for his investigations into the potential assassination attempt, the Regenters were the best and only lead he had... 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you forgot (or even straight up didn't know) who the Regenters were-- ok first of all, fairs, they're very forgettable. Second of all, may I suggest reading[this](https://dishonored.fandom.com/wiki/The_Child_Empress) and [also this](https://dishonored.fandom.com/wiki/Gathering_of_the_Regenters) book from DH2?  
> Anyways, thank you for reading again! I really appreciate you! Also really appreciate comments because I am a very shallow person who needs constant validation!


	5. He Knew My Name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot explain to you how many times I've nearly written the Masked Felon as "the Melon" while making this fic. So many times...

If someone had asked Beatrici what she thought of the Masked Felon only an hour ago, she would have told them that he was probably a myth, just a made up story that parents told their naughty children, or a legend of death that people had created after the Rat Plague. But a lot could change in an hour.  
Now, Beatrici was sure he was real. She was sure that she had seen the actual Masked Felon tonight. A metal-skull faced man, something she almost could believe was some kind of reaper from the darkest depths of the Void, walking the mortal world to take dead men’s souls. But she knew the sight -- and being seen by him -- shouldn’t have shaken her that much. It was stupid, really. She hadn’t even seen him kill anyone, and yet seeing him struck some unwieldy fear into her.  
In all likelihood, he was just some random masked criminal. She’d faced plenty of criminals, plenty of men who thought themselves legends; why should the Masked Felon have been any different?  
But he Masked Felon, whatever he was -- ghost, man, or myth -- had looked her dead in the eyes and spoke her name. Which… again wasn’t that incredible in itself. Many people knew her name. Yet how did he know her name?  
Beatrici didn’t want to stick around to find out, and ran at the first chance she had. And she’d ran almost the entire way back to the docks, until she was too out of breath to keep running. And she finally looked back, to see an empty street. The Masked Felon hadn’t followed her -- of course he hadn’t, why would he? She was just some civilian, really. Not someone he ought to follow. She had no reason to be afraid.  
Beatrici had made it back to the ship fine, walking the distance back, and repeatedly looking over her shoulder. No sign of that chilling skull-face. She had no reason to be afraid.  
Now, she was sitting in the Black Fox’s main room, on one of the mismatched wooden chairs placed around the table. The whale-oil lamp on the table cast the metal walls and table in a low but warm light. A comforting light.  
Tegan walked out from the small kitchen holding two simple mugs of tea. By the time Beatrici had got back to the ship, she had calmed down considerably, and managed to explain what had happened in a just-about-coherent manner. Tegan had listened intently, not sparing a word of judgement. Beatrici knew how much Tegan probably wanted to say “I told you so” about tonight going wrong, but was thankful she hadn’t. Yet.  
Tegan sat down around the corner from Beatrici and set a cup in front of her, before sipping from her own mug.  
“Thanks,” Beatrici took the warm mug into her hands and took a drink. She only just managed to not cough at the taste of not-just-tea, “Is there whiskey in this?”  
Tegan took another sip, “Yep.”  
Beatrici was about to say something, but instead shrugged to herself and took another drink. She wasn’t going to say no to a bit of whiskey after tonight… even if it was mixed with tea.  
Tegan set her mug down. The clink mixed with the quiet sounds of the other boats resting in the docks around them, “How are you doing?”  
Beatrici huffed a little. “Fine. Feeling stupid more than anything.”  
Tegan raised an eyebrow, “Why, because you ignored what I told you?”  
Beatrici gave Tegan a flat half-smile, “Because of how spooked I got of the Masked Felon.”  
“Who you saw because you ignored what I told you to do.”  
“Yes, the Masked Felon who I saw because I ignored what you told me to do.” Beatrici raised her eyebrows, “Happy?”  
Tegan gave a smile and picked her mug up again, a silent yes. She took a quick sip, then reached over and put her free hand tenderly on Beatrici’s arm, “Really, are you okay?”  
“Yes, I am,” Beatrici smiled. “After all, he was probably just some guy in a mask; nothing to be scared of. And it’s not like he really did anything to me. All he did was... say my name,” Beatrici huffed again, half-laughing at herself.  
“Right,” Tegan nodded, retracting her hand. “And it might not have even been the Masked Felon.”  
“You know a lot of people who have a metal skull face and can single-handedly take out an entire building of armed men?” Beatrici asked flatly.  
“It’s Dunwall. There are a lot of strange people.” Tegan suggested with an idle gesture of her free hand. She was good at shrugging things off as nothing, while at the same time being one of the most paranoid people Beatrici knew. It was something of a talent. “You remember, there used to- well, supposedly used to be a whole gang of masked Void-powered assassins here?”  
“Used to? I thought they were still around.”  
“Nobody’s seen much of them since the Rat Plague, apparently.” Tegan looked up at Beatrici, “You know what? I think the Masked Felon drove them out so he could have a monopoly on being the scary masked guy of Dunwall.”  
Beatrici smiled and huffed amusedly. “So you admit he’s real?”  
“As much as I’ll admit that assassins who dress up as whalers and can move 50 feet in seconds are real.”  
“Uh huh,” Beatrici said, still smirking.  
Tegan set her mug back down again. “So, was it more of a ‘urr Beatrici I’m an evil Void spirit and you’re going to pay for your sins’ type of Beatrici or a ‘oh hi’ Beatrici?” Tegan asked, doing bad impressions of a gravelly-voiced man, copying Beatrici’s rough description of the Masked Felon’s voice.  
Beatrici briefly gave her impressions a small, amused smile, before furrowing her brow. “No, it was… it sounded more like a question? As if he’d recognised me, or wasn’t sure it actually was me.”  
“Well, a Void spirit would know your name, and wouldn’t be unsure about it,” Tegan said, as if she was suddenly the leading authority on Void spirits. Beatrici almost had to stifle a laugh. “So… that means he wasn’t a vengeant Void spirit coming to get you for your uh- crimes,” Tegan concluded.  
“Yeah,” Beatrici smiled slightly. She knew he wasn’t a Void spirit. That was stupid, something a little girl would think. Still, that left one rather large and uncomfortable question, “But how did he know my name?”  
Tegan gave a slight shrug, “Maybe he heard us say our names when we came in. He can’t have been that far from the building when we showed up if he had already ”  
“He called me Beatrici.”  
Tegan gave her a confused look.  
Beatrici held her gaze, “You introduced me as Bea when we got there, but he called me Beatrici.”  
Tegan furrowed her brow, glancing into her tea. She looked back up at Beatrici with a slight shrug, “It was probably a lucky guess.”  
“The letter ‘B’ could be short for anything.”  
“A very lucky guess,” Tegan amended.  
All of Tegan’s ideas were a little vague and didn’t hold up incredibly well, but they were a comfort nonetheless. Still, Beatrici couldn’t stop thinking about it; how did he know her name? Maybe they’d done business with him before -- after all, criminal was more or less in his name. But she’d always gone by Bea. In fact, she wasn’t sure anyone that wasn’t close to her had called her Beatrici since… probably since Karnaca. And she very much doubted the legendary Masked Felon was anyone she’d known back then. It all didn’t make sense.  
The Masked Felon might not have been- he wasn’t a Void spirit, but there was something off about him. Something Beatrici couldn’t place. Maybe it was just the hideous mask. Or maybe it was something else, something stranger about him. Or something she knew.  
Too many questions, and not enough answers.  
Beatrici picked up the small wooden bird that had been sittin on the table next to her, and held it in a fist. She would have liked to say she wouldn’t have gone back for it if she’d known the Masked Felon was there, but that would've been a lie. Beatrici didn’t much want to admit how far she was willing to go for this silly little reminder of the past.  
“Look at it on the bright side,” Tegan started, breaking Beatrici out of her thoughts, “You got to see someone scare the living shit out of Fersel,” Tegan pointed out.  
Beatrici gave Tegan an amused huff. That certainly was a bright side.  
Tegan scoffed, her amused tone dropping. “I still can’t believe we worked for a Regenter. What kind of crazy asshole decides they liked the Regency and actually want it back?”  
Beatrici absentmindedly hummed in agreement. She opened her palm and glanced at the wooden crow. She hadn’t thought much about it when Fersel had first said it, but the fact she’d unwittingly helped the Regenters felt like a serious betrayal. The Lord Regent -- the first one, not the one who’d ruled for about a day after him -- had been the man responsible for all that bullshit that had happened to her brother.  
Beatrici looked to the floor. It was useless to think things like that; she was never going to see her brother again, and it wasn’t as if he was ever going to know about all this. She protectively closed her fingers around the bird again, hiding it from her view.  
Beatrici huffed, “You know what? I agree; anything that can go wrong will go wrong when you’re in Dunwall.”  
Tegan nodded, with an expression that could only be described as the quiet victory of ‘I told you so’. She took another sip of her whiskey-tea before speaking again, “Well, we’ll be out of the city by tomorrow. And as far as I know, Masked Felons are only endemic to Dunwall, so you’ll be fine on that front.”  
Beatrici huffed through a smile. “Right.” She tightened her grip on the wooden bird.  
Dunwall was a strange place, and Beatrici would be happy to be away from it again.


	6. Duality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> REPORTS OF MY DEATH WERE GREATLY EXAGGERATED!  
> Hello there!! It’s been quite some time, hasn’t it? Just want to say “whoops, very sorry about that!”   
> I was like “yeah I’ll totally work on that next week” and then all of a sudden it had been about 4 months because time actually isn’t real! woo!! ~~is anyone still reading this?? If you are i love you and i’m sorry this chapter isn’t longer~~

“Lady Darchelle seems to think that the only place in the Empire that  _ exists _ is the Estate District,” Emily paced around her office, waving a piece of paper. “And Lord Leabourne is acting like the theatre opening next week is the most important thing in the world! Do they not know I have other things to—” Emily stopped. “Father, are you actually listening to me?”

Corvo glanced up from the security missive in his hand, “Yes, I am.” 

He was sat up in the soft leather chair across from Emily’s desk, somewhere between trying to look relaxed and being all too alert. 

As Emily’s Protector, Corvo was  _ supposed _ to simply stand by his Empress’ side, not sit in the chair across from her like any one of her noble visitors. But Corvo and Emily weren’t exactly very good at only being what an Empress and her Lord Protector were supposed to be. 

Emily continued pacing, “Do they not know that I have other things to worry about?” 

Corvo didn’t answer the rhetorical question.

“And I don’t think Lord Shaw even  _ knew _ what he was trying to propose for the city! I’m not sure some of the nobility even know a world outside the Estate District actually exists sometimes.” Emily continued, raising her hands in confusion. “I…” Emily paused and gave Corvo’s leg a pointed look. “Are you alright?” 

Corvo realised his knee was anxiously shaking up and down.  _ Dammit _ . He quickly put a stop to it. “I’m fine.”

Emily gave him an unconvinced look before glancing back to her papers on her desk and sitting down. 

Corvo wanted to remind Emily that it was  _ his _ job to make sure she was okay, not the other way around, but decided against saying anything. Corvo was all too aware that he had been off his game all day — and all too aware that people close to him were noticing. He was too busy thinking about last night, too busy thinking about what it meant.  _ His sister was alive. _

But that would barely matter if he managed to get himself killed for not paying proper attention. Geoff had actually been able to land a hit on Corvo when they were sparring earlier. It might have just been one light hit, but one hit was far more than most people got on him — including Geoff. 

And Corvo was fairly certain that he’d hardly been watching in court today as he stood by Emily’s throne. Still watching or listening to what people were saying -- it was almost impossible not to hear to those loud-mouthed Lords and Ladies -- but not paying enough attention to his and Emily’s surroundings. He was distracted, and he couldn’t have that. He couldn’t be distracted. He’d been distracted in the gazebo that day, and—

Corvo glanced towards the office window to shake that memory off. He couldn’t go down that line of thought. Not now. 

Outside, the late afternoon sun shone down on the buildings of Dunwall far below the Tower, casting a cold golden glow on them. It was a view he’d seen hundreds of times in the past , yet somehow it felt different now. His  _ sister _ was somewhere in the city. 

Corvo had tasked a few of his spies looking into the Regenters to keep an eye out for her — a woman fitting her description or with her name. He hadn’t said why, but he was sure they could make a very educated guess. Though he doubted they’d have the chance to report anything back to him before tomorrow, though. 

But Corvo couldn’t go out himself, not yet. He was the Lord Protector first and foremost. Keeping Emily safe day-to-day took precedence over… well, everything. Even trying to find his sister. That, and he couldn’t really go out as the Masked Felon in the middle of the day. It was hard enough sneaking out of the Tower at night, thanks to his own security measures, sneaking out during the day would prove more difficult (though not impossible.) He would simply have to wait, no matter how hard it was. He could wait until tonight. 

Corvo looked back to his daughter, who was leaning over her desk with her hands to her head. “Are  _ you _ alright?” he asked.

“Mm,” Emily quietly hummed in agreement, but her scrunched-up expression, still staring down at the papers on the desk, told Corvo otherwise.

“What is it?” he asked softly. 

“How did Mother make this look so easy?” Emily muttered quietly, not quite answering him. 

Corvo tried to ignore the way her question made his whole body pause. He thought that by now, five years later, he wouldn’t feel that quiet heartbreak every time Emily mentioned Jessamine like that -- he  _ wished  _ he didn’t. But he couldn’t quite help it, not yet. 

Corvo sat forward in his seat. Emily glanced up, still leaning over her papers, and Corvo held her gaze. “She made it  _ look _ easy. She struggled, just like you,” he said. 

Emily furrowed her brow, “You always say that.”

Corvo tilted his head gently and looked his daughter in the eyes, a silent way of reminding her that he said it only because it was true. 

Emily gave the slightest of nods and looked blankly down at her paperwork again. 

Corvo couldn’t deny that Emily was growing to look more and more like Jessamine every day. Her soft, childish cheeks were evolving into her mother’s sharp features, and the way she held herself was sometimes a little too like her mother. Seeing the similarities between Jessamine and their daughter filled him with equal parts joy and sadness. Memories and reminders. 

What filled Corvo with another mix of emotion -- a more unidentifiable one -- was that Emily was also growing to look more and more like  _ him _ too. Her face might have been more reminiscent of Jess’, but her deep brown eyes were almost unmistakably  _ his. _

He just hoped no-one else had noticed that; the fact he was Emily’s father still wasn’t public -- even if it was becoming something of a badly kept secret nowadays. 

“Well,” Emily started, bringing Corvo out of his thoughts, “At least after all this paperwork, I have training tonight to look forward to.” She turned a page with a short glance to. 

Corvo’s mouth drew to a thin line. _Right._ He’d forgotten to tell her. Of course he’d forgotten to tell her. “About that…”

Emily’s eyes abruptly met her father’s. 

“We can’t do that tonight,” he said with an apologetic frown.

The disappointed look on her face made Corvo immediately want to take what he said back. He knew how much Emily loved their weekly training nights down by the waterfront; they were the one time she could completely escape her duties and the pomp and circumstance of Dunwall Tower. Corvo loved them for a similar reason. There, they were just father and daughter, mentor and trainee -- not Lord Protector and Empress of the Isles. It was all simpler there, down by the waterfront. 

“Why?” Emily asked, pouting slightly, and looking more like a young girl than she did the august Empress of the Isles.

Corvo paused. Part of him wanted to tell his daughter that he’d seen his sister — that he wasn’t the only family Emily had. But what if he couldn’t find Beatrici again? He didn’t want to get Emily’s hopes up of meeting his sister — thinking that Corvo wasn’t all the family she had left — only to take them away. He didn’t want to disappoint her or end up lying to her. Besides, she had enough to worry about. 

“Secret spymaster business,” Corvo said instead, using what Emily used to call his night outings as a kid. 

Emily raised an eyebrow, “Secret  _ Masked Felon _ business, you mean.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Denying Corvo was the Masked Felon had started as a way of reminding Emily that the fact that it was a secret. But now it had become something of a joke between them. Emily seemed like she wasn’t in much of a mood for it, but Corvo didn’t imagine the way a small smirk was trying to tug on the corner of her lip. 

Emily sighed a little. “Do you have to do... whatever it is yourself?” 

Corvo nodded, keeping his daughter's gaze. 

Emily’s mouth drew to a thin line, “Is it something I should know about?” 

“I’ll tell you if anything comes of it.”

Emily nodded her head, looking both unconvinced and unimpressed. She knew he was hiding something, and it didn’t quite sit right with either of them. 

There were a few moments of almost-uncomfortable silence before Emily looked Corvo in the eye again, perking up. Before she even opened her mouth, Corvo knew she was going to ask for something; “Can I come with you?”

Corvo raised an eyebrow, “No.”

Emily sighed and sank in her seat almost dramatically. “It was worth a try,” she muttered.

Corvo gave his daughter an amused huff. That was hardly the first time she’d asked, and he doubted it would be the last. As if he was ever going to say yes to letting Emily start running about the city in a mask like him. She was the Empress and his daughter; he had to keep her safe, not put her in more danger. 

A knock on the door brought Corvo to attention. Corvo stood up, as he was as meant to, and Emily quickly sat up straight, “Come in,” she said. 

The wooden door opened to reveal Emily's secretary behind it, in his fine grey suit. “Your Majesty, Lord Protector,” the secretary nodded to Emily and Corvo in turn, “Sir Ellis has arrived for his meeting.”

“I am ready to receive him,” Emily said, adopting her formal Imperial tone. 

The secretary bowed out of the room, closing the door behind him. Off to tell Ellis that the Empress would be with him shortly. 

Emily slumped in her chair. Her expression soured out of the polite mask, “I forgot about Sir Ellis' appointment...”

Corvo hadn't forgotten, but he wasn't exactly looking forward to it; to say Sir Ellis wasn't exactly Emily's biggest supporter would have been an understatement, but he was important, so this meeting needed to happen. 

Corvo folded the security missive he’d been holding and put it into his jacket as he stood up. “Don’t look too happy about it,” he smirked sarcastically.

Emily too stood up and straightened her dark jacket out before giving her father an equally -- if not more -- sarcastic smile. She rolled her shoulders back, like a performer readying herself for an act, and trained her face to the mask of Empress. That always filled Corvo with some mix of pride and  _ she’s too young to be doing this. _

Emily walked out from her desk, towards the door, and Corvo followed a couple steps behind her and one to the left as he was meant to. He only moved out to open the door for Emily, not bothering to alert and then wait for the guard outside to do so. 

Corvo was about to follow her through, but his eyes lingered on the clock face in Emily’s office. Just a few more hours and he’d be out in the city, looking for her. _ Just a few more hours. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol hopefully I'll start updating a helluva lot quicker and not leaving this off for a 200 years and then writing the whole thing in like 2 days (•‿•;) But thank you for reading!!! And… for coming back! Sorry if this chapter sucked I haven’t been writing much at all lately :P ~~dont stop reading if it was, because it’ll like totally get better dw!!~~.  
> I haven’t mentioned it before I don’t think, but I have a [tumnglbler](https://stealingpotatoes.tumblr.com/), so you should check it out if you want to see all the art I do while not writing this fic (: I’m a lot of an better artist than I am a writer lol.


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